“And how, in the name of St. Andrew, camest thou here?” demanded Rory.
“By being taken,” replied Roger. [[423]]
“Thou wert on the ramparts with us to the last,” said Rory.
“I was,” replied Roger.
“By St. Giles, but it was a noble escalade, comrade, an we had only been well backed,” cried Spears with enthusiasm.
“Noble,” cried Roger in the same tone.
“Didst thou mark how the knaves fled afore sax o’ us?” cried Rory. “Sax against twa hundred o’ them at least.”
“Nay, three hundred, brother,” replied Roger.
“Ay, faith, that may be,” said Rory; “I’ll no dispute as to that. There might be three, ay, or four hundred o’ them, for I had no great leisure to count them. But this I ken, neebour, that an it hadna been bigget ground, thou and I souldna hae been here.”
“No, that I’ll promise thee,” replied Roger.